I love coffee. Done well, it's the perfect beverage, even better than an extra dry martini. You may think I need a psych evaluation after you read about my latest adventure in coffee.
I think I can put part of the blame on my friends the Crothers who introduced us to a ridiculously pricey cup of brew last year before my second relapse. They had purchased a Saeco espresso maker at a garage sale and could no longer have coffee any other way. The machine is huge, has its own grinder and makes up to two cups of espresso or or one 8-oz. cup of hair-on-your-chest coffee in a single minute. You simply cannot resist this delicious shot of black liquid.
Mariel commented that the purchase and the size of the machine itself seemed unlike us. We are surely more quiet and unassuming than this monster would suggest. Some might justify the expense by saying they won't buy a cup of coffee on the way to or at work. A Starbuck's veinte can set you back a few dollars a day. But we always make our own coffee, except in restaurants, so that's a bogus argument for us. We just wanted a perfect cup of coffee and were willing to pay and give up valuable kitchen real estate to get it.
Come on over and I'll brew you a cup. I'll even let you have milk and sugar. The machine has a frothing wand, which I've yet to use, but means there's cappuccino in my future. Like maybe this afternoon.